


Beacon In The Dark

by Kaz_Langston



Series: Light The Fire (Paul / Alec) [1]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Bisexual Alec Hardy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21797299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz_Langston/pseuds/Kaz_Langston
Summary: Late one night Hardy turns to the church for comfort.A brief look at the first time Paul and Alec really connect.Some mentions of anti-lgbt themes from the church but not super heavy.
Relationships: Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Series: Light The Fire (Paul / Alec) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575979
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	Beacon In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Sad Broadchurch Gang and their penchant for throwing ideas around.

It's late one evening when Hardy leaves Miller's house, mind buzzing with their latest case, and takes the path across the field towards his home. It's not far, and the walk should help clear his head, wind down for the evening, hopefully help him rest.

The church doorway is a lighthouse in the dark; it doesn't light the way, showing rocks in the water, instead stealing his night vision when he stares a little too long.

The water's never safe for him anyway, so on a whim Hardy strikes out towards the beacon.

The door opens under his touch, the outer door left open and the old fashioned latch lifting with a satisfying clunk.

It's darker inside, just a few scattered lights, but still well lit. There's no one around, the heavy reverent silence surprisingly soothing given the previous occasions he's visited, and he's drawn up the aisle to sit a few pews back, behind ‘close family' but certainly not so far back as ‘disgraced copper'.

It's a familiar feeling, for all that it's unsettling, and it reminds him that once upon a time he had faith in the church, and then faith in evidence and facts, and then faith in... whatever he has now. He's not sure, and he's grateful for the slight sanctuary the building offers.

He sits there for a long time, head bowed, mind racing through the case, springing from his mental identity parade to fresh theories, trying not to let himself think too much about why this building, of all the churches he's been in over the years, why _this building_ is the only one that offers the comfort he so desperately craves.

He's deep enough in thought that he doesn't even stir when Paul Coates, in dog collar and jeans and a warm looking jumper, slides onto the other end of the pew.

"Good evening, DI Hardy."

Hardy grunts a response.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

He scowls at his hands, suddenly realising the entwined fingers might be mistaken for prayer. He pulls them apart and clenches his fists.

"I hoped I wouldn't see you." Liar, he thinks. Liar liar liar. Surely that's a sin, just another one to add to the list.

Paul's tone is mild. "I can leave if you want."

He doesn't make any move to go, though he doesn't look settled on the wooden pew, and while Hardy is loathe to reveal himself he's even more loathe for the man to go.

He gives the vicar a quick look from beneath long lashes. Paul's facing the altar, pale face cast into sharp peaks and shadowy valleys. He doesn't move under Hardy's scrutiny, but then he's never been one to squirm. "Stay. Please."

They sit in silence for a long time, Hardy's shallow breaths slowing until they match Paul's. He can feel his heart rate slowing too, settling into a comfortable rhythm.

Paul seems to know better than to say anything, letting the silence stretch out between them and reach the hallowed walls.

Eventually, Hardy's gathered the strength to speak, or perhaps run out of strength to keep silent. "I used to be religious, you know." It's conversational, doesn't sound like a confession but it is, as much as any words whispered in a booth in a Catholic church could ever be. "My parents always were. Every Sunday, without fail. Then I realised I'd never live up to their standards. That I was - wrong. And sometimes I think this-" he pressed a hand to his chest, his heart, and Paul remembers the stories that rattled round Broadchurch of _heart attack, nearly died, shouldn't be on the case,_ "- I think this is punishment." His hands pull together like magnets, clasped tightly to stop them from shaking.

Paul tries not to hold his breath, tries to expand and contract his chest as though everything is normal when his heart is racing, his gut clenching at the pain in Hardy's voice.

"I don't think it works like that," he says quietly. "God loves all of us."

Hardy snorts. "You keep believing that."

"He _accepts_ all of us."

And there's a little inflection on 'us' that makes Hardy pause before he responds; drag his eyes away from his clasped hands; seek out Paul's dark eyes.

He meets the gaze without flinching, and offers a small smile.

"Church has changed a lot since I was a kid, then," Hardy says, unable to take what's being offered.

Paul slides closer along the pew, almost close enough to touch. If Hardy wanted to, that is.

"Vicars have changed a lot too," Hardy follows up, looking away.

"Oh?" Paul half expects something biting and vicious, expects to be sent scurrying back to his office.

"Mine never used to be half as good looking." Immediately his cheeks are aflame, and Paul chokes out a laugh.

Hardy can't bear to look at him, but suddenly there's a warm hand on his knee.

"Look, I can't do anything here, but would you like to get dinner some time?"

Hardy stares at the hand on his knee, on his thigh. It's the most contact he's had with a man - romantically, that is - in years.

The moment drags on, and on. He can feel the tension in the man beside him, and he can feel himself all but vibrating under his own skin, torn between condemnation and salvation.

In the last instant, as he feels the sigh leaving Paul's chest and the pressure on his leg starts to lift, he throws out a hand, pressing against the one on his leg.

"Yes," he says. "I'd like that."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter @Kaz_Langston


End file.
